


Delivery

by fictorium



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium





	Delivery

Alicia tries to ignore the knock at the door.

  
She has the apartment to herself at last, the kids packed off to school and Jackie asked nicely not to come over. Peter left for another day of fundraising and making empty promises, smart enough not to offer to stay.

  
This migraine isn't kidding around, and she thinks it might be the worst one she's had in years. The dancing lights behind her eyelids might be pretty if they didn't give her vertigo like she's hanging off the Skydeck at the Sears Tower. Getting up is not a pleasant experience, but she stumbles to the door in case it's important; if it's someone peddling religion Alicia isn't sure she'll be responsible for her actions.

  
Fighting back another wave of nausea, Alicia slides the chain and unlocks the door. She reminds herself that hallucinations are not a symptom she has ever experienced, and so Will really must be standing in the hallway with a brown paper bag in one hand.

  
"I heard you were sick," he says, and his voice is softer than usual. That's honest-to-God worry in his eyes, Alicia recognizes, because Will has known her a long time and remembers the girl who sat her mid-terms with a 103º fever. Sick days are not something Alicia takes lightly, and she tries not to feel touched by his concern.

  
"Come in," she offers, though she has the presence of mind to feel self-conscious about the state of the apartment. Discarded books and papers trail in the wake of Zach and Grace, abandoned ties of Peter's lie draped across the couch and so Alicia leads Will to the kitchen where a couple of used mugs are thankfully the only debris.

  
"Did you need something? Is there a problem with the case?"

  
Alicia presses the buttons on the coffee maker from muscle memory, though the smell alone is making her sick. She's so used to being the perfect hostess that she doesn't know what else to do. She leans on the fridge for a moment, pressing her forehead against the cool surface for a second of relief.

  
To her surprise, when she steps back, Will is standing right behind her.

  
"Alicia, this isn't about work. Sit down, before you fall down."

  
She does, and Will fixes his own coffee when she waves away the offer of a cup. He watches her as he sits at the breakfast bar, before nudging the bag he brought towards her.

  
Opening the crumpled bag, she discovers a ridiculous amount of migraine products - the obvious pills, as well as soothing gels and some kind of eye mask. The gesture alone makes tears well up without warning, but she manages to blink them back.

  
"Trying to keep insurance premiums down?" It's a weak joke, but the best she can manage.

  
"I remember how bad they got at Georgetown. And that you never look after yourself, not when there's everyone else to be running after. So I boosted this stuff from a drugstore, no biggie."

  
Will looks embarrassed at having to explain himself, and the boyish blush on his face erases a lot of years in a heartbeat.

  
"Thank you. I uh, took a couple of Advil this morning. This is better."

  
The smile isn't hard to conjure up, even when she feels this crappy. Sometimes it feels like she has a special reserve of smiles for Will, ones she can offer on even the toughest day. She stands to pour herself a glass of water, the better to chase the meds down with, but that proves to be a step too far.

  
It's not really a faint, but the world gets distinctly wobbly for a moment, and she regains focus with Will's arms around her. Thank God for those basketball reflexes, she supposes.

  
"Okay, I am putting you to bed. Clearly, you pose a danger to yourself and society."

  
"If you say so, counselor," she murmurs, and when Will picks her up it's just instinct that wraps her arms around his neck.

  
He places her gently in her bed, without having to ask for directions to the correct room. Before Alicia can call out and ask where he's going, Will returns with a deliciously cool towel that he wraps around the base of her neck.

  
"I read that this helps," he whispers. When he begins to stroke her hair, easing the strands from her paler than usual face, Alicia can't help but notice he doesn't offer an excuse. She begins drifting off to sleep, the soothing motion too much for her to resist.

  
She can't be asleep for long, but wakes up to a glass of water and an assortment of pills laid out neatly on the nightstand. Alicia feels the pang of loneliness, already missing the notion of being cared for when a rustle of paper from across the room catches her attention.

  
"Hey," Will says, looking up from the briefs in his lap, since not everything has made the transition to their paperless office. His tie is loosened now, shirt sleeves rolled up and his coat nowhere in evidence. It's kind of alarming, but great, how he looks like he belongs here in her bedroom.

  
And this is _her_ bedroom, a place that Peter is still banished from. There's no guilt at having another man here, she realizes, and that's a development in itself.

  
Alicia smiles again, reaching for some painkillers and sipping gratefully at the water.

  
"You didn't have to, you know."

  
Will shrugs, because he knows that; Will knows a lot of things and that's part of why she loves him. For all the times she labels this situation complicated, sometimes it's exactly as simple as that. She loves him, and he's the guy who leaves work in the middle of the day to make her feel better.

  
Because real life will intrude, or because she's a little bit out of her mind, Alicia drags herself from the comfort of the mattress once more. Will is ready to stand and intercept her, but she moves quickly enough not to give him the chance.

  
She kisses him with all the tenderness that he's just show to her. Will's lips are soft under her own, and although it's probably a bad idea, she's enjoying it anyway.

  
"I mean it. Thank you," she breathes when the kiss ends. She wonders what his response will be what clever retort he'll make to play down her gratitude. She knows she must look a little crazy, in blue silk pajamas with pillow-mussed hair.

  
His response is simply to kiss her again.

  
Real life is going to intrude at any moment, Alicia knows. The phone will ring or the kids will come home and she'll have to resume her role as the dutiful wife and mother.

  
But for now, there's only Will, who's kissing her better like his own life depends on it. It's happiness as a cure, and Alicia thinks she might just be entitled to that.


End file.
